A Family Tradition
by Lli
Summary: Based off the myth of Cupid and Psyche and featuring just about everyone we know and love plus some we don't, as well as aparating!Root, my first ever attempt at older!Artemis, and enough classical allusions to keep even Keats happy.
1. Chapter 1

Mm hmm, yes, that's right, another non-drabble. I'm on a roll. Though, the writing is a little bit off the wall with this one, so sorry if it gets confusing (feel free to criticize loudly!!). Also, this first chapter is probably the strangest of the bunch, but please stick with it. And, of course, review! Enjoy, Lli

Chapter title belongs to William Morris.

* * *

**A Family Tradition**

Chapter One: Within the flicker of a white-thorn shade

'Kill him,' they said to her. Well, that's what they meant, at any rate.

'He's getting out of hand, he's getting too close, he's getting too smart. We don't want the competition,' they said to her. At least, that's what they were thinking when they spoke.

Actually, what they said was, 'He is a problem that needs to be contained. We trust you to make the right decision.' And they pressed the gun into her hands. Maybe it was their idea of a joke. Maybe, years later, it was their way of saying: we know what you did. Did you really think it would go unpunished?

Now she stands on his window sill, looking at him lying asleep. Haven't I been a good daughter to them? she thought. Haven't I done my duty? For years I have been good, the best. Isn't that worth something?

How many years since she's seen him? A decade? Sounds about right. She'd heard he'd regressed, that he'd lost some, most, of the few morals she'd managed to instil. But come on, that was no reason to... couldn't she just speak to him? Reason with him a bit? Yeah, right, because that always worked so well in the past.

And it has been so many years... She watches him, the veins in his eyelids snaking like rivers in skin so white. His face is a stranger's face. She leans her forehead on the glass.

Alright, fine, she'd gotten distracted, but she'd been busy, ok? Opal on the loose, Demons protesting this, Goblins striking for that. So she hadn't called him back that one time. It wasn't like he'd made an effort either.

She presses her hand to the pane, outlining his jaw on the glass. She knows she can't possibly kill him. A stranger, a danger, it doesn't matter, she would love him even as he pressed the gun to her head.

Well, d'arvit.

She weighs her options. Okay, so, don't kill him. Go back. Say... say what exactly?

It's kill him or say goodbye Haven.

She shakes her head. She killed him and they would tell the world. They'd have her up in front of a judge before she could say: framed! So not only would she have killed, arguably, the love her life and therefore hate herself, but she would spend the rest of her long, long life in maximum security with no one and nothing for company except herself. After all, the Book forbade corporal punishment.

It was a lose-lose situation.

So what, then? If he wasn't dead by morning they would know her heart and they would have her up in front of the tabloid cameras. She would be their witch to burn, their Babalon, Mother of Abomination. Finally she will have given them the rope to hang her with. And now there was no Julius to fly in and rescue her at the last minute.

Kill him. Maybe they won't tell.

She uses her omnitool to open the window. Slipping to the floor, she draws the heavy velvet curtains out, sinking the room into the dark like a ship going down into the deep, deep sea.

She feels her way forward, even her helmet's night vision is useless here. She smiles, because that means that whatever and where ever their surveillance is, it is useless too. And Artemis doesn't keep a camera in his own room any longer.

There were no witnesses here at all.

Except each other.

She takes off her helmet, she takes off her boots, her wings, her gear belt. She takes off everything and leaves it on the floor. There would be nothing of him on her things. If it all goes to hell, at least she won't have made it easy for them.

She climbs onto the bed, kneeling beside him, enjoying the feel of silk on her bare skin, marvelling at their closeness. When was the last time so much of her skin had been near so much of his? Not since that time in the Manor study when No.1 had told them... she smiles to remember their horrified embarrassment. And now look at her.

Putting her mouth to his temple, she kisses him.

Kill him? Not a chance.

She can feel his eyelashes on her skin as his eyes open.

'Who's there?' his voice is thin, dry, shocked. He sits up, lost in the dark. 'What on earth is-'

She grabs his arm as she hears it pass her, reaching for the light. _Don't_, with her index finger she writes on his bare chest. _No light._ _They musn't see me._

She can neither hear nor see them, but she knows he has raised his eyebrows. See? she wants to tell him, the time doesn't matter, I still know you. We are still one and the same.

I really should have called him back, she thinks.

Apparently unfazed by her method of communication, he reaches forward. He isn't, however, unfazed by her bare skin. Fingers resting on her collar bone when they should be touching fabric. Disbelieving, they travel downwards, bisecting her torso, and then up again, to cradle her face.

_Who musn't? And who are you? _He writes along the soft skin of her inner arm, so as not to be presumptuous. Her exhaled breath stutters at the tickling. _Why are you here?_

_To kill you._

_And will you? _He doesn't pause, doesn't flinch.

But she does. How do you tell someone that if they were to die, you'd be following quick on their heels, but sorry, still didn't manage to call?

She feels her way to his face, taking it between her hands. He doesn't move away. She wonders if he already knows the answer to his question or if he's just really good at inhabiting his 'inner place'.

She stands, leaning down to kiss him, his face turned upwards like a confessing sinner.

_Who are you? I k__**now**__ you._

His arms come around and tangle with hers and their bodies slip downwards. In the dark Holly can't tell which way is up, only that he seems to be everywhere. But he pulls away, mouth against her ear.

'One is usually given supper, not sex, before being executed, I believe,' the sound of his voice makes her gasp.

_I am not going to kill you, _she writes, to answer his question, _I am going to keep you safe._

She can feel his smile against her cheek. Smug little bastard.

Later, when he is sleeping, she fishes a syringe out of its case on her belt. This is a lot tougher than it sounds in pitch black. Holding the needle in her mouth she swears mentally over the goblin-proof lid on the vial. Success at last, she fills the syringe, flicking the needle with unnecessary aggression when done.

Crawling back into bed, she lets her hands wander, searching for an arm. That accomplished, she gently slides the syringe home, emptying it into him. It will keep him asleep until they arrive.

She dresses him and herself, wraps him in camfoil and attaches him to her belt like she used to, so long ago, forgetting her earlier qualms about getting him on her clothes. Invisible in any light now, they fly from the window and away towards the coming dawn.


	2. Chapter 2

Before it goes any further, I should probably say this fic owes a debt of gratitude to a) ilex-ferox for recommending I go back and read b) Blue Yeti and Dim Alderbran, whose stories have definitely influenced this one, though it'll never be as dark, gripping or beautiful. So, thank you!

* * *

Chapter Two: A Snake in the Grass

If Minerva Paradizo is surprised to see them appear seemingly from nowhere in her bedroom at 3:47am on a Sunday morning, she hides it remarkably well.

'He's unconscious,' she says by way of hello.

'And he's going to stay that way for at least three more hours. I have a favour to ask,' Holly packs away the foil and disconnects him from her belt.

'Yes, I had already come to that conclusion.'

Holly has forgotten how obnoxious this girl is. 'Right, well, he needs to lie low for a while. But somewhere I can still get to him,' her hand reaches out to touch his hair, but she checks the motion in time, 'things aren't going so well between him and uh, my bosses. So could you keep him here? Otherwise, well, he'll probably die.'

So, she may be overdoing it a bit, but she really couldn't care less.

Minerva tilts her head, smiling, 'You are willing giving him to me, demon? Me, of all people?'

Holly has also forgotten that no one ever bothered to correct Minerva on the matter of faery families, 'Yeah, that's right, he's all yours. Let Butler know where he is, or he'll probably have a heart attack. And don't you dare tell anyone it was me that brought him here. Do we have a deal?'

The other woman regards the man lying on the floor between them, 'He won't just stay here because I tell him to.'

'Tell him it's to keep him safe. Tell him he'll never know who was sent to kill him if he doesn't. He'll stay. And give him a room that has heavy curtains. That goes totally black.'

Minerva raises her eyebrows, but follows it with a shrug, 'Alright. As you wish. I'll keep him.'

You make him sound like a pet, thinks Holly. Aloud she says, 'If anything happens to him, you realise you're dead too, right?' and disappears into the night.

* * *

She gets dead end duty doing above ground maintenance jobs. They think it's self-punishment on her part. Keep busy so that she can't think.

Well, she's keeping busy at any rate.

Every night she comes to him, hidden by the dark.

_Never turn on the lights,_ she warns, _or they'll see me and know._ She isn't sure if Foaly still has Minerva under surveillance, but she isn't willing to take the chance. She can trust him to turn a blind eye to Artemis' sudden appearance here, but to her, sneaking in at night like she does, to do the things they do? She isn't so certain there.

She isn't, however, willing to stop coming. That appears to be worth the risk.

Running her thumbs over the bridge of his nose and delicate bones of his face, she misses the sight of their eyes looking back at her. Fingers tracing his lips, she misses the sound of his voice, cold and cutting and beloved. But she still has taste, touch, scent and feel and they do the job well enough.

One day, she thinks, one day, I will be able to spend hours just looking at him while he goes on and on and _on_. And then I'll be wishing he'd just shut up. Might as well enjoy the silence while I can.

When they lie still at last, he mouths the same words against her skin, night after night. _I __**know**__ you. _And his eyebrows wrinkle in frustration.

_Better than anyone, _she replies.

* * *

Minerva, meanwhile, ever-watchful, realises Holly didn't quite tell her the whole truth. There was nothing about all-night rendez-vous in their contract. She whispers to Butler, _Can it be safe, letting who knows who come visit him? It could be anyone. And all we know is that we must never come in after a certain hour..._

And Butler, though trained to follow orders, can't help but have a faint niggling doubt. Artemis knows what he's doing, true, but that only means he knows when what he's doing is dangerous. And that knowledge has never deterred him in the least.


	3. Chapter 3

And another one. I don't think I've given Minerva this much dialogue... ever, actually. Points if you can find all the random symbolism of the first two lines. I may have gone to town.

Lamia and Other Poems (Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes and Other Poems) belongs to Keats and The Golden Ass to Apuleius.

* * *

Chapter Three: The Holy Trinity

Minerva is dressed for the occasion. Morning glory and white gauze, ephemeral in the late afternoon.

He is sitting on the balcony facing south, watching the sea below them. He looks up, smiling, as she approaches.

She smiles as well, but it is a different kind of smile. Running a hand through the hair at the back of his neck, she perches herself on the arm of his chair. He shifts away to give her space, brow faintly creased.

'Good evening.'

'Good evening,' she echoes and makes her move, now, before he starts speaking and quantum physics or the chaos theory get in her way. Her lips touch his and she leans forward, precariously balanced.

But it's only the briefest of touches before he pushes her away. He stands, taking a step back, 'What are you doing?'

'What does it look like I'm doing, Artemis? Or have you suddenly taken leave of your much vaunted intellectual prowess?' confusion and the beginnings of doubt make her peevish.

'Don't be juvenile.'

It's deserved but it only serves to turn her peevishness to anger, 'Sorry, Mother.'

'What did I _just_ say? At any rate, you know perfectly well there is already someone.'

And to her anger he adds jealousy. Oh, she knows alright. Better than he does.

Minerva leans back, arms folded protectively over her breasts, 'Don't be ridiculous. You don't even know who she is. I do. And she's nothing but an uppity little Lilith.'

Artemis smoothes his hair back into place, seemingly unconcerned by this revelation, 'Perhaps. But I'm afraid that still doesn't make you Eve.'

She laughs then, bitterly, for of course she had taken Holly's bait as easily as an apple from a snake. 'Nor you Adam,' she replies, though weakly she'll admit, and leaves him.

* * *

Minerva continues to whisper in Butler's ear until he is half mad with worry. Until he can't keep quiet any longer.

'Please Artemis, God only knows who she is.'

Artemis doesn't look up from _Lamia and Other Poems_, 'I know who she is. Don't worry old friend, she hasn't come to steal your child and eat him.'

Butler skips the allusion and gets straight to the point, 'And just who is she, then?'

His charge shrugs, as though to rid himself of an itch, 'I don't know her name. Though, I'm sure I did once. I must have done...' his thoughts wander for a moment. 'At any rate, Butler, I do know her.'

Needless to say, Butler is not reassured, 'You don't know her name, but you know her? Artemis, this is no time to get sappy on me.'

At last Artemis does look up, nettled, 'I am not 'getting sappy on you'. I am being entirely literal,' he shrugs, 'Call her Cupid, if you must call her something. Though, in this day and age that name has been reduced to a horrible cliché.'

'Has it?'

But he's lost him again, those mismatched eyes are looking at something far away that Butler knows he will never be able to see. He sighs, 'Would you just think about it, Artemis? Please. For me. Just get a look at her even, that couldn't do much harm.'

'And yet we were only just speaking of Cupid. Obviously you've never read_ The Golden Ass._'

Though it's not something he often has to do, Butler can recognise when it's time to give up.


	4. Chapter 4

This is were we start to move into the action/adventure genre a little more. Yes, that's right, I'm writing something with actual plot. Stolen, but hey! Baby steps. Err, probably should have mentioned this before but, minor swearing!!

PS. the page break button seems to have quit on me, so... imagine.

Chapter Four: Eos, The Third Wheel

Artemis is, however, a curious boy. Well, man, now. Butler's warnings don't go unheard and, like Minerva's bitter whispers, they coil in his subconscious, building on his curiosity, his frustration. He recognises the shape of her body, the taste of her mouth, but he just can't quite place them. And it is driving him _up the wall_.

She's so small, almost like... but let's not be ridiculous. After all, he's had many tiny lovers since She vanished, it could be any number of people. Artemis frowns to himself, thinking that it really is high time he got over his absurd attraction to diminutive redheads, diminutive East Indians, diminutive girls with heterochromia or hooked noses. It has passed through merely predictable and is moving swiftly into absolutely pathetic.

Finally, one morning, he is lying with this familiar stranger in his arms and he thinks, well, why shouldn't I know? This isn't a myth, after all.

He rises and moves to the window. The clocks glows the early hour and he knows that outside dawn is only just breaking. Taking a breath, he pushes back the curtains. She is instantly awake.

He standing there, stark naked, his skin warmed to gold by the rising sun. This may be the only light in which he doesn't look like corpse. Her eyes are wide with horror and betrayal but she can't help loving the sight of him.

'_Holly,' _his voice cracks like it hasn't done in years. 'Holly,' he feels like he could stand here forever just saying her name, eternally reassuring himself that it really is her.

'Shut _up_ Artemis,' the familiarity of her response catches him off guard and he smiles. It's almost as though this were any other day of their long and bizarre relationship. 'They'll _hear_. They'll see. Oh for - it's too late, anyway. D'arvit, _Artemis,_' she grits his name out, one word encompassing at once all possible remonstrations and all possible endearments.

She's out of the bed now, reaching for her clothes, but has to pause, arms around her stomach, as the sun makes her nauseous. She can feel a blush rising in her cheeks as he watches her, of all the times to get embarrassed! But, then again, he's never _seen_ her before.

'Close the d'arvitting curtains, Artemis, or I'm going to throw up,' she goes for her clothes again, swaying like a landsick sailor.

Obediently, he does. She can hear him come towards her in the dark, and she hurries into her shimmer suit, fingers slipping desperately at the straps of her wings. Oh no, he's got her by the hands now, oh no, Artemis, she has to go, oh no...

'You never called.'

'Neither did you,' she squirms in his grip, decidedly stronger now that he is older.

'I suppose not.'

They are silent for a moment, wounded pride and so many insecurities gaping between them like a knife wound to the stomach. Holly forgets her desperation to leave, wanting only to take this hurt and kiss its pain away, to cover it in reassurances like band-aids so that the world can't get in and fester. She is suddenly glad that his grip on her wrists will keep her from shedding her clothes all over again.

'I missed you,' she says, by way of apology, excuse, explanation. Her voice breaks on the words.

'Were you really sent to kill me?'

And with that, all her fear and frustration comes rushing back. 'Yes. You're were getting too smart for them, that new thing, that C Cube follow up you made with our technology... they were scared and resentful and,' she breaks free of him, 'now they'll know what I've be doing and where you are, Foaly'll have to tell them when he sees this. Artemis you idiot, why, _why, _couldn't you have just listened for once? I only wanted to keep you safe,' she's at the window now, steeling herself to fly out into the dawn. Quietly she finishes, 'What did I ever do but love you?'

'Holly-'

'Forget it Artemis. I've got to go. And so do you, before they send someone else.'

Then she's gone.

Artemis stands in his room, the curtains askew, the new sun throwing shadows on the floor, and realises he has just let the love of his life fly away, into the day that will sicken and expose her.

'_**Hell!**_'

He throws on his clothes, shoes put on without socks, top button of his shirt not even done up, and runs out into the house.

''

Butler is doing his early morning rounds when he finds her. Wings buzzing ineffectually, she is on all fours, gasping for breath beneath the apple trees.

'Holly! What on earth-' Butler pauses, thinking, slowly realising, 'Oh no. It was _you_.'

She looks up at him, her face stricken.

He picks her up gently, avoiding her wings, like you do when you cup butterflies in your hands. Her body heaves and she sobs, clutching at his shirt as he carries her down into a darkened garage.

'What will I do, Butler? I couldn't kill him. I _couldn't_. It doesn't matter how bad he is. Frond, what the d'arvit am I going to do? He opened the curtains! They know now, I'm sure they know. They'll throw me out. But Butler, I couldn't, I – I love him,' her words come out in a rush, tripping over themselves. 'Oh _d'arvit_. D'arvit, d'arvit, d'arvit, _Frond,' _but with each cuss she calms down, gasps evening out, heart rate slowing, until at last she is still in his arms. 'Ah Butler,' he can hear her wry smile at her own hysteria, 'I've really done it now, haven't I?'

With his big thumbs he smoothes her sweaty hair back from her forehead, 'You've 'really done it' who knows who many times. Artemis'll work it out. For now let's just get you somewhere safe. And then you can tell me the whole story, from the beginning, how about that?'

Strength sapped from sunlight and emotional seesawing, she nods quietly, letting herself be put into the back of a car, its windows blacked out. Butler slips into the driver's seat, and backs them out into the drive.

'There's a faery fort not far from here, up on the hill, I can stay there until I get over the sunsickness,' she tells him, lying down along the plush seat.

'Alright.'

Good old Butler, she thinks, always saving my ass.

Shit, thinks Butler, I've really dropped her in it now, haven't I?

''

He searches through the house. He searches all over the grounds. She is nowhere. So, he does it all again. He is peering into the rhododendrons by the front door when Butler returns.

'What on earth are you doing, Artemis?'

'Butler!' he jumps, startled, and blurts out the only thing in his mind, 'Holly! Have you seen Holly?'

'Yes,' replies his manservant evenly, 'I just dropped her off at some faery bunker up that hill over there,' he gestures with the car keys. Artemis follows their movement with his eyes.

'Did you? That's wonderful,' he grabs the keys from Butler's unsuspecting hand and races for the car.

'Ar-' Butler sighs and lets his sentence go unfinished. Unless it was 'Holly' Artemis wasn't going to hear a single word he said.


	5. Chapter 5

Yes, up to my old trick of multiple updates again. I'm going away to Germany so I thought I'd leave you with a gift. And, for the record, I don't really care if bringing him back is trite, I've done it anyway, and I'll be doing it again:) Also, tried to be clever with the title, but I think it's actually more just silly. Ah well. And, apparently I've decided to add a little Persephone lore to this mish mash.

PS. Celebrate! Apparently, page breaks love me once more. How does that even work?

* * *

Chapter Five: Humbug in the Temple of Ceres

The hill turns out to be smack in the middle of a farm. Fabulous, thinks Artemis crossly. To his credit at least, the idea of imminent mud, animal droppings, stiles to be climbed, and general sweating to be done, doesn't slow him down as he parks the car and begins his ascent.

The hill, he discovers, is actually more of a small mountain, and halfway up scrawny conifers shoot out of the arid soil, tripping him with their roots. The sun is high in the sky when he reaches the top, coming to a huffing stop in a clearing where a stream splooshes out from under a pile of huge stones, tripping happily down into the fields below. Eagerly, he goes to sit on a boulder, only to find himself falling sideways against a metal door. Ah, why hello there faery bunker.

Exhaustion momentarily forgotten, he cracks his fingers like the concert pianist he actually is, and prepares for his assault on the door's keypad.

It doesn't take long.

The fort is a one room affair, as sterile and lifeless as these places always are. The exception here is that this one had been left in disarray.

With an appreciative groan, he flops down into one of the hover seats. 'Holly?' he calls out, his voice sounding much too hesitant for his liking.

There's no answer. Maybe she's gone out? Yes, obviously, at high noon no less.

'Hell,' he says again.

Either to distract himself, or to help himself think, he's not sure which, he begins to clean up the things left lying around. Discarded Nutri-packs, a solar power plug in, a crumpled square of camfoil; nothing that particularly whets his criminal appetite.

'Well, well, well, and he does housework too,' says a voice behind him.

Artemis drops an odd looking wrench, whirling. When he sees who it is he can feel his face fall open in shock. 'You're dead,' he replies, vaguely accusing.

Root frowns, 'No kidding, really? Have you gotten dumber as well as uglier since the last time we spoke?'

Artemis raises an eyebrow, the insult snapping him back to his senses, 'What a pity, Commander, that the afterlife seems to have done so little for your manners,' he pauses, considering, 'My oh my, Julius are you _haunting_ me? How quaint.'

'That's _Commander _to you, Fowl, and don't flatter yourself,' Root snorts, his colour rising despite his cells being long deceased, 'Haunting requires much more effort than I am willing to spend on some jumped up mudbrat. I'm aparating.'

'Of course. How terribly original of you,' Artemis smirks. 'Going to show me my past, present and future are you? You're a bit early, Christmas is months off.'

Root frowns, jaw clenching. 'Look, boy,' he jabs a finger at Artemis' chest, 'I _saw_ what you did to her today, and what you did to her all those years ago. So don't you dare give me any lip. Because let me tell you, if you're going to covet my officers, you sure as hell better be ready to go all the way. You know, in sickness and in health, and 'til death do you part,' he punctuates his last four words with more finger prodding. 'You got that, Fowl?'

'Mmm. Yes, you're coming in loud and clear, Commander,' Artemis picks nonexistent lint from his shirt with feigned disinterest, 'It's remarkable actually, I didn't realise you got such excellent reception with this sort of thing.'

Root shuffles self-consciously. 'I've been taking classes,' he mutters at last.

Artemis blinks. He'd like to say something biting here but finds he really has nothing to counter that.

Taking advantage of Artemis' temporary bafflement, Root boards his train of thought once more, 'Anyway. Holly. The way I see it, you're going to have to go down there and do some serious cow-towing,' he doesn't hide his gleeful smirk, 'to keep the pair of you from ending up, well, for you, dead, and her, exiled or in prison.'

'Oh yes?'

Root glowers, 'Yes. Or it's goodbye Holly. Forever.'

Artemis has always had the sneaking suspicion that someday, somehow, she would be his downfall. And of all the ridiculous clichés: brought to his knees for the sake of his lover. Couldn't he have at least gone down in the middle of some ingenious heist? But oh no, that would never do. No poetic justice in that, is there? He really should have seen this coming.

'You're being melodramatic. I have defeated the best and the brightest of the LEP before, I don't think it will be too hard to do a repeat performance.'

'We're not talking about one contained incident here, Artemis, we're talking a life time of cat and mouse until they win, unless you decide to destroy our entire way of life, and that'll really ingratiate you with Holly, won't it? Speaking of whom, we're also talking about her possibly spending the next two thousand years in exile,' Root pauses for breath, and fixes him with his worst glare, 'So, what do you say?'

Artemis throws one last curse to the gods, 'What do you think I say?'

'I try not to think about the next thing that's going to come out of your mouth, honestly.'

Artemis gives him dry stare, 'Charming. Now, how exactly am I to get down to the Haven to do said 'cow-towing'? And to whom, precisely, will I be doing it? There are a few flaws in your plan here, I'm afraid, Julius.'

Root rolls his eyes and, with admirable self-restraint, ignores the use of his first name, 'And to think it was you who outwitted us at age 11. Boy, do you humans disintegrate fast, or what? Use the com-screen,' he points to the opposite wall, where an aged communications terminal sits, 'Just turn one of those microphones on, state your name and start talking faery gibberish like you did that time your ape man nearly died. Foaly'll pick you up and Trouble will patch you through to the necessary council men, because they're the ones after you,' Root pauses, considering, 'Or, actually, better yet, just put out a distress call.'

Artemis purses his lips. He can feel Root's glare drilling into him, but he continues to eye the screen without moving. He is Artemis Fowl II and he does not beg. He just doesn't.

But there was a time when he didn't laugh, smile, or make love. He just didn't. And yet he does all those things now.

Perhaps more importantly, there had also been a time when he hadn't know Holly Short, and a time when he wished he had never known her, and they were both times he never wanted to return to.

He sits down in front of the screen, hooking a headset over one ear.

'Atta boy,' says Root, cackling, 'You be good to her, you hear me? Or I really will haunt you. They give lessons in Poltergeisting as well, you know.'

Reflected in the screen before him, Artemis can see Root give him an evil grin and disappear. He gives a barely perceptible shudder and gets down to business.


	6. Chapter 6

Back from Germany, still in one piece, and oh gosh the produce choice over there! Why do I live in France? Haha, anyway, sorry for the wait, ta da, chapter 6.

Also, can I just say that the new format for uploading things confused the heck out of me.

PS. Violet apparently generates feelings of romance.

Chapter Six: Sacrifices Great and Small

A computer tucked under the massive screen reveals, in its files, the list of numbers available for an LEP operative to call should he or she find him or herself in need of aid. Artemis calls the 'Operations Booth Assistance Desk', guessing that this meant whatever poor shmuck trainee Foaly had taking calls for him.

'Hello, ah, bunker 25B907. Er... who's speaking please? There's no registered user for that site at this time,' the voice on the other end of the line is uncertain, out of its depth.

'Yes, I realise that. This is Artemis Fowl speaking. Be so good as to put me through to Foaly. Or Commander Kelp. And inform whoever needs to be informed that the People's public enemy number one is on the line, I want to speak to all of them. And be smart about it won't you? I'm rather pressed for time,' Artemis leans back on the hover chair, stretching his legs out and propping them on the console. Lazily, he reaches for a nutri-drink. Public enemy number one? He runs that sentence back through his head, frowning. There has to be better way of phrasing that.

'I... er, I don't know if I have authorization to-'

'Artemis!' Foaly's voice butts in, disconnecting the lab assistant, talking a mile a minute. 'How did you even _find_ that fort, it's a total hole in the wall. And Frond have you got some fast talking to do, they picked Holly up a couple hours ago.'

'Is she alright?'

'Yeah, sure she is, it was just a bit of sun exposure, she's in the hospital recovering as we speak. Though, the fact that, _apparently_, she's been sleeping with you for the past what, couple months? isn't doing her any favours with the council,' Artemis can hear him bite into a carrot, 'I was worried about her doing something crazy like this one of these days. Of all the – what _could _she have been thinking? And you ... but I don't trust this line, give me a minute to - oh, never mind, Trouble wants in on this conversation too.'

The screen flickers into life, divided in half, Foaly on the left and Trouble, with several rotund, aging elves, on the right.

'Commander,' Artemis nods slightly, 'and Councilmen, I presume?'

The older elves say nothing, but Trouble returns his nod. 'Is this line secure, Foaly?' he asks.

Foaly taps a few keys, carrot dangling from his mouth, its green top flip flopping as he chews. 'Is now,' he replies around the carrot.

Artemis turns to the councilmen, smiling his vampire smile, 'I have been informed, councillors, that you have become desirous not only of my, let us say, discontinued existence, but that you have plans to penalize Captain Short for actions taken to prevent such an occurrence. Would I be correct in assuming this information true?'

Foaly whinnies, 'Wait, wait, w_ait _a minute. Discontinued existence? Ex_cuse _me? Am I missing something here?'

The councillors ignore Foaly, looking Artemis in the eye, 'We are not at liberty to say. However, we may state, unofficially, that your planned release of the Persephone Project, a device constructed almost entirely with stolen faery technology, is viewed as distinct threat to our security, against which we are fully prepared to take all necessary action.'

'I see,' Artemis decides that now is not the time to debate just how 'entirely' constructed with faery technology Persephone really is, though he bristles at the implied slight to his inventive capacities. 'And is there any way that I might allay your need for this 'necessary action', both against myself and Captain Short?'

'Are you offering to make a deal?' the middle councillor raises his eyebrows.

'I am offering whatever it takes to keep her safe and happy and myself alive.'

Foaly gapes, nearly losing what's left of his carrot.

'You do realise what she has done is completely and utterly taboo? She betrayed – the very thought of one of the People engaging in, in.... it's _repugnant,' _the councilman face is distorted with disgust, and even Trouble looks vaguely ill. 'She deserved and deserves to be punished.'

'And is that why you chose to send her after me?' Artemis sips from the nutri-drink, 'For an innocent accident ten years and a once-close friend? Or were you _hoping_ to drive her,' he chuckles, 'into my arms, as it were, so as to finally be able to accuse her of what you believed she felt?'

Foaly asks once more for elucidation and is once more ignored.

'Nothing of the sort,' but the councillor's eyes slide away for a second. He covers his guilt with bluster, 'That we could have ever believed such a... relationship... to be possible before this is preposterous! No member of the People in their right mind would even for a moment consider – simply friendship is ... The whole thing is beyond imagining,' the elf splutters. Gaining control of himself, he declares, 'Needless to say, she will be ostracised even if we choose not to act against her.'

'Hardly,' Artemis inspects his nails unconcernedly, 'At least, not if you don't tell anyone. You've only just discovered the, mmm, tryst yourselves. And I hardly think that illegal surveillance footage is common knowledge. But it _is_ ironic, don't you think? All of this trouble from a people who pride themselves on how emancipated and liberal minded they are...'

'Every species has its limit,' the middle elf seethes.

Placing a calming hand on his colleague's shoulder, the older, more austere, councillor to the left speaks up, 'If, Master Fowl, you truly are willing to prove your usefulness and good-will to the People, we will perhaps be willing in turn to some sort of agreement regarding the granting of amnesty. For you both.'

'How charitable,' Artemis doesn't hide his sarcasm.

'Don't do yourself any favours there or anything, Artemis,' Foaly pipes up.

The councilmen share a quick, whispered conference and Trouble watches them uneasily before turning back to Artemis, 'Did they really send her to...?' his voice is soft, disbelieving.

Artemis nods.

'They know she could never...'Trouble closes his eyes, visibly pained. 'Oh Holly,' he says.

The eldest of the three approaches the screen once more. 'We have decided,' he smiles, 'to have you do some community work. The LEP have rather a large amount of old case files that need organizing. If you agree we will have an operative pick you up and take you down to the databank, whereupon someone will explain the process to you. You have one night, and one night only, to accomplish this.'

Artemis shrugs as though he found doing basic multiplication more interesting than the dignitary before him. 'If that's what you want.'

'Yes,' the elf replies. 'The shuttle will be there in approximately 17 minutes. Give you good day.'

And half the screen went blank.

Foaly is on his sixth carrot by now. Worry makes him eat. Pulling the vegetable from his mouth he looks Artemis in the eye, 'Alright. Okay. Artemis, _what in Frond's name is going on_?'

Artemis takes another sip of nutri-drink and clears his throat like a professor before a very, very long lecture.

* * *

Chix Verbal is determined to give the human his most frigid cold shoulder. And for the first ten minutes he manages to be, if not glacially aloof, at least quiet. But he's never been one for long awkward silences and half way through the ride back his curiosity gets the better of him.

'So, Fowl, you like, _know_ Holly, yeah?'

'Yes, I know her.'

'Right, uh huh,' Chix fiddles with the dashboard a little. 'Then, I guess you feel pretty bad about kidnapping her now, don't you?'

'It was the best decision I have ever made,' which is, arguably, the truth. And Artemis is not about to tell this ridiculous green, begoggled creature before him that he's been feeling guilty ever since Butler put her body in a bag under that tree, oh so long ago.

Chix doesn't know what to say to that, so he switches gears, 'Sure, yeah, ok, but, I mean, like, since then, weird as it is, you two've gotten pretty close, right? Would you say that you, y'know, know what she likes?'

Artemis frowns, unsure where this conversation is going. 'I would. To a certain extent,' he amends. With Holly, you can never be too sure.

'Right, uh huh,' Chix repeats, chewing his lip. Now for the big one, 'So, then, would you say she'd like me better if I got a dye job?'

Artemis fights valiantly to maintain his composure, 'What, ah, colour did you have in mind?'

'Well, a couple actually, I was hoping you'd have some suggestions. It's just, I know that sometimes elves aren't too partial to the green,' he gestures to his face. 'And why else would she be playing so hard to get?'

'You mean dye your _skin?_' For the second time in as many hours, Artemis finds himself gaping.

Chix gives him a funny look, 'Duh. What else would I dye?'

'I'm sure I have no idea.'

'Well, then, what do you say? Will she go for it? I was thinking orange, it's really in right now. Or maybe a nice violet.'

The idea of an orange Chix is too painful to even visualize so Artemis hurries to respond, 'Violet. Definitely. Yes, I'm sure she'd love that.'

'Really?' Chix grins, 'Thanks man. Boy is that a weight off my mind.' He reaches over and gives Artemis a jovial thump on the arm. It hurts a lot less than one of Holly's. Artemis wishes briefly that he has chosen a wussier life partner.

'My pleasure,' he tells Chix. He smiles to himself, thinking of Holly's reaction to this particular anecdote. And then he frowns, not wanting to think that he may never get the chance to tell her.


	7. Chapter 7

Ok, I'd just like to say that adapting 'sorting grains for Aphrodite's pigeons in a temple' into a task for the People's Council was a real pain in the neck. But I'm having a lot of fun with the hunt for the golden fleece. Ha, anyway, on a total side note, I'm going to be blatantly partisan and say, belatedly: THANK YOU to everyone and anyone who voted for Obama in the US election. I wish we had managed to elect someone that useful too (Ew, Stephen Harper).

* * *

Chapter Seven: Ants in His Pants

No1 is waiting for him in the shuttle terminal. Leaving his bulked up bodyguards behind, the little demon skips up to the man, wrapping his arms around his waist, unable to reach higher. Artemis returns the hug earnestly, though unavoidably awkwardly, considering the height difference. He doesn't comment when he feels something small and flat being slid into his pants' back pocket.

'It's been ages!' says No1 gleefully, thrilled by the use of an idiom.

'It has,' Artemis agrees, crouching down to be at the demon's eye level. He finds that he is sincerely happy to see the verbose little warlock again.

'Well, actually, it's been exactly a decade,' No1 amends, 'but that feels like ages, doesn't it? Isn't that strange? And boy, have you grown. That must be so uncomfortable.'

Artemis swallows a chuckle. 'You get used to it,' he assures with gravity.

'Still,' says No1, 'it just seems so superfluous. Excessive.'

'Well, we are a race that loves living in excess,' Artemis acknowledges.

'Very true,' the demon shakes his head sadly.

'No1, what are you doing down here?' Wing Commander Vinyáya appears in the doorway.

'Visiting my friend,' No1 replies calmly, ignoring his bodyguards' uneasy shifting. No1 is perfectly aware that, no matter how the rest of the People feel about Artemis, no one will attempt to keep him from visiting the man, for fear of the apocalypse. No1 discovered early on that he was entirely comfortable with occasionally exploiting this fear for attending to important things. Like, say, future happiness of his two favourite people.

Vinyáya looks sceptical but doesn't comment, only gestures for Artemis to follow her. Mock-dutifully, he follows behind her, giving No1 a jaunty wave as they turn a corner.

Artemis and Vinyáya walk a ways in silence. It's not until they pass through a door and into what looks like catacombs that either speaks.

'No1 gave you what he calls an 'ant'. I'm not sure exactly what it is, some kind of No1 magic/Foaly technology hybrid. But it'll help you with the filing. Just tell it how you want things done and it'll organize that whole mess in no time,' Vinyáya speaks to the floor, not looking at him.

'And exactly how do I want things done?'

'It's nothing too bad. I've got a full list of instructions on a chip for you, but cross referenced by date, time, place, perpetrator and officers involved, that sort of thing. Plus, creating a search engine so that it's all easily accessible.'

'I must admit I'm surprised they're letting me anywhere near LEP files.'

Vinyáya laughs, 'It's a closed system. Every couple centuries Foaly has someone go down and dump any case files over five thousand years old into it manually. You won't even be seeing anything so recent as the birth of that man of yours, eh...' she snaps her fingers trying to remember, '... Christ. That's the one. I always confuse him with Confucius. Anyway, the databank is old, it's a mess, and it's absolutely _huge. _Truthfully, this whole system is just of those things that keeps getting pushed aside because there are so many more important, _more interesting,_ things to do in the present.'

Artemis fingers the ant in his pocket. Search engines were easy enough, but that many files would take days to sort through. He smiles, beginning to understand their ploy. But honestly, trying to trap him with technology? Well, then they're nearly begging to be outwitted. 'Thank you,' he smiles at her.

She doesn't smile back, 'I'm doing it for her, not for you.'

'I know,' Artemis finds he really doesn't mind that the only thing these people like about him is Holly. He is fully willing to agree that she's far and away the best part of him. 'How is she?'

'Fine, unless you mess this up. In which case the surveillance footage will be leaked and she'll be more fried than a dwarf at midday.'

'Please, let's not be too subtle with our threats now.'

Vinyáya does smile then. 'Very, very rarely, Fowl, I can sometimes almost see why she likes you.'

Artemis laughs, and tries his luck, 'Will you tell her I'm here?'

She shakes her head. 'Not until you've finished. I don't want to get her hopes up.'

Fair enough.

'Aren't you worried that they'll know you're collaborating with the terrorist?' Artemis changes the subject.

'No. I mean, there're security cameras down here, but there's no sound and I've been speaking with my head down, you'll notice, so no lip reading. Though I doubt they'd even think of it. They're good at scheming, bullying, and throwing their weight around, but paranoia's not their forte, that's why they hired Foaly. Besides, they don't have the balls to accuse me. Not after what happened to Chairman Jood,' she smiles nastily.

Artemis decides not to comment, skipping forward instead to his next question, 'Are you telling me then that a centaur who wore a tin foil hat for the better part of his adult life has no sound on even one of his security cameras?'

Vinyáya shrugs, 'This whole basement is surrounded on all sides, and above, by active LEP and government offices. Foaly has every entrance and then some to this place smothered in security gadgetry. You're ID'd and cross-referenced fifty times before you even step into the hall, even if you were to step through one of the walls.

However, if, somehow, you were to tunnel underneath here, and by the way, the pressure in the earth below us would crush titanium like so many toothpicks, you'd still have to get through this maze and out through into the mainframe, so no one ever bothered to update the cameras back in the day.

Though, since no one really comes down here, everybody coming out is treated with utmost suspicion. We've had some really dreadful situations where poor junior techies come back up from dropping files of some sort and get whacked by the system. Trauma everywhere, let me tell you. They've even gone so far as to name the databank 'The Minotaur'.'

'I see.' Artemis frowns suddenly, 'What I don't understand is why Foaly didn't simply erase Holly from the footage at Minerva's.'

Vinyáya laughs humourlessly, 'He probably would have done, it's astonishing the things he'll let her get away with, but a couple of Councillors had come down to ask him if he knew where you'd disappeared to. They were hoping he'd, er, understand the gravity of the situation better if they came in person. Too bad you didn't wait ten minutes with those curtains, I doubt anyone would ever have known then. You've got some serious karmatic issues, Fowl.'

'Yes,' sighs Artemis, 'so I've been told.'

Vinyáya leaves Artemis in a windowless room occupied almost entirely by a massive plasma screen and a whirring computer. Slipping into the scruffy hover chair, he pulls out the ant and slides into the computer.

The screen comes alive and information flickers past him at an incredible pace. A video clip of No1 opens automatically and begins to play.

'Hello Artemis. Don't be apprehensive,' No1 takes obvious pleasure pronouncing 'apprehensive', 'the spell I've placed inside Foaly's gadget,' he chuckles, 'isn't that a wonderful word? Gadget. Mmm... ah, anyway, part of the spell identifies chemical makeup so I know it's you who's watching this recording. If you weren't you you'd have great big puss-filled boils popping up all over your face right now.' There's a noise in the background, a barely audible Foaly saying: 'hurry up!', No1 huffs, 'As I was saying, just type in your instructions and my spell will do everything else. Isn't that neat? I came up with it in less than an hour too. Good luck Artemis!' the demon waves and the screen closes.

Chuckling appreciatively, Artemis turns to the task at hand. Taking a minute to orientate himself on the Gnommish keyboard, he smiles to himself: here was something he could do in his sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

An attempt to return to the original feeling of the fic... Thanks (as always) to ilex-ferox for keeping me in line. Also, if you haven't read it, I'm going to suggest you read a version of the Cupid and Psyche story because, from here on in, this fic'll make a lot more sense if you do.

* * *

Chapter Eight: A Study in Archetypes

Holly sits in her hospital bed, knees drawn up under her chin. Everything in the room is white: the walls, the floor, the curtains, the sheets, the bedside table and its tacky lamp, whose light reflects off the walls, becoming painfully bright. Holly feels like she is going blind, her eyes are wide open and see nothing. When she lies down she has the sensation of drowning in milk.

Once, a councilman came to visit her. Tall for an elf, and old, thousands of years old, his name is Apollonius, from back when the names of human deities were all the rage. He had come in, sat down in the lone chair and stared at her, the only dark spot in the whole room. Holly had stared right back, not wanting him to know he made her feel like a bloodstain on clean linen.

'There are names for women like you,' he said at last, 'in every language on this planet.'

'And what are women like me?' Holly asked, already knowing and not wanting to hear.

Apollonius smiled, 'Why don't you ask your little boy? He seems to know them all. And it is his species that is so enamoured with the archetype.'

'And what archetype is that?' her voice was flat, her speech slow and rhythmic, nearly a chant. She could refuse to acknowledge his thoughts just as long he could refuse to name them.

The councilman sighed, 'You know what I mean.'

'No,' she replied doggedly, 'I don't. I am a law enforcement officer. I have saved the world. I love a man. What does that make me?'

'You love a _human_. You love a human when you should love your people.'

'Love my people? It wasn't for love of my people that I jumped into time tunnel with a bunch of stone warlocks going Frond only knew when and where? It wasn't for love of my people that I snuck into the Koboi Labs during a goblin siege? It wasn't for love of my people that I fought trolls and psychopaths and megalomaniacs and child genii? When have I ever not loved my people?' Her eyes were slits, her fist clenching the white sheets.

'When you were faced with the choice between the life of your people and the life of some stinking criminal mudman, that's when. At the very end, when at long last you were our golden girl, that is when you betrayed us. And for what? A silent scream of passion and legs wrapped around scrawny hips,' Apollonius sneered, levelling a long and gnarled finger at her. 'You want to know your name, girl? Here it is, in the language of your lover: you are Lamia. You are Lilith, Babalon and Naamah. You are that snake in their ridiculous garden, their precious temptress that sends their holy men gibbering to their idols. They give you fancy names to cover up the fact that what has bewitched them is nothing more than the pretty face of a common whore. _That_ is what you are, girl, a whore, nothing more. And you sold us along with yourself,' he paused, drawing in breath. 'What can I say? Fowl is a businessman, he can recognise a good deal when he sees one. And you were on offer for so little it was nearly criminal,' his lips twisted upwards into a horrible facsimile of a smile.

'I sold nothing,' she whispered, 'I gave myself away. Myself and only myself. I love him.' She drew herself up, 'At least I'm not a murderer.'

'It would have been self defence.'

'It would have been murder.'

'You are supposed to protect your people.'

'I am supposed to protect life.'

'It would have kept us safe.'

'From what? Our hypothetical children? Frond forbid! That's nearly as bad as having females in recon.'

'Don't be flippant. What you have done is an abomination.'

'It was love.'

'It was disgusting.'

'Get out.' Her cupid's mouth was a knife's edge and her eyes were so cold her face was nearly unrecognizable.

'We'll have you for this,' he spat. 'We know what you are now.'

'I said _get out_.'

He did.

She wants to cry, to see if the tears will wash away this blind white and let her see again. She wants to know that she can trust the man she loves. She wants her mother. Or even Julius.

Instead, for some unfathomable reason, she has Lili Frond.

'Can I get you anything Holly?'

Holly shakes her head.

'Come on, pouting is bad for your skin. A book, a game?'

'No.'

'You can't sit here like this forever.'

'Well, I can sure as Frond try.'

'What about some food? Are you hungry?'

Another shake of the head.

Lili sighs. Officially, nursemaid of the pining heroine is the lamest role _ever_. Especially when you want to be playing the hero.

Holly does, however, make an effort at cheerfulness when Vinyáya enters the room, carrying cartons of take out Italian.

'I brought all your favourites, even chocolate cake. Thought we might have a little party,' Vinyáya spreads the swag out on the end of Holly's bed.

Holly smiles, though only poking half-heartedly at the fiddlehead fettuccini. 'You're the best. Have we got a good excuse? Just get your nails done? Finally took your trash out?'

'How about Artemis couldn't strike a deal fast enough with the council? He's just finished doing file maintenance on the Minotaur.'

Holly swallows her mouthful slowly, 'Trying to save his skin after all? I must have really scared him with all that assassination talk. Well huh, who'd have thought. Apollonius forgot to mention that.'

'I don't doubt he did. After all, the deal is that Artemis does whatever they want done and they will grant you amnesty.'

Holly puts her fork down very slowly. 'Pardon me?' she asks, her voice suddenly calm and even.

'Whatever they want in exchange for your safety. No murders, no exile, no humiliation,' Vinyáya continues eating her pasta quite calmly, as though she hadn't just blown Holly's world to pieces. 'I thought that was a pretty good reason to celebrate.'

'For me?' Holly repeats again, eyes wide, completely missing Vinyáya's last sentence. 'Artemis's doing it for _me_?'

Vinyáya looks up at last, 'Mm hm.'

Holly smiles, timidly at first, but it grows, until she's grinning and then laughing, fingers splayed over her mouth.

The women with her see no hissing snake in the grass, only love and a blinding hope.

* * *

'We have reason to believe you had asistance from an inside source,' glowers the Councilman, 'so we are adding an additional task.'

Artemis raises an eyebrow. Clearly Foaly and No1 underestimated their political leaders. Always reassuring, if not terribly useful for Artemis. He wonders if Vinyáya will have better luck with them. Remembering her vicious smile, he thinks she probably will.

'I don't recall that be part of the agreement. I completed the task in the allotted time, before, even. Those are simply the results one receives when one employs a genius of my calibre. I'm afraid it's none of my concern if you are used to a lower standard of workmanship,' he flicks a tiny smile at Foaly beside him.

Foaly whinnies in disbelief, brandishing a half masticated beet, 'Dream _on_ Artemis.'

'I don't believe you are really in a position to argue, Master Fowl. Unless you going to retract your pledge to the health and happiness of ... Captain Short,' the elf's upper lip curls on her name.

Artemis' face is stony, 'No, I have no intention of doing anything of the sort. Someone has to look after your citizens, as you appear to be wholly uninterested in their welfare.'

'She directly disobeyed orders concerning the safety of her nation. In her chosen career, that is unacceptable.'

'Yes, what a terrible pity. After all, who else could ever be so valuable a Delilah?' Artemis sneers, and his face is utterly white.

The councillor's face goes red and he opens his mouth to speak, but his colleague puts a restraining hand on his arm. On the other side of the screen, Foaly does the same to Artemis.

'The second commission we have for you concerns an ancient faery artefact,' continues the second councillor, 'it has been missing for some four thousand years and had been thought irretrievably lost until was discovered last week by a human archaeological expedition. I believe it is now being held the Ulster museum in Belfast.'

Artemis blinks, 'You mean the golden sheep everyone thinks is a Bronze Age idol?'

The councillor purses his lips, 'Yes, that one.'

'I see. And you want me to, not to put too fine a point on it, steal it back for you? I suppose discovering something by accident in a peat bog doesn't count as 'separating a faery from their gold'.'

'You tell me, Fowl. The minutiae of separating us from our gold do seem to be your area of expertise.'

'Very true. I wonder, however, that you don't simply do as you did when I stole from you, and send a troll in to recover it. Or does a gold sheep require more subtlety and tact than the life of an LEP test case?'

'Artemis,' warns Foaly in an undertone.

'Do you accept our terms, Master Fowl, or not?' asks the elf.

Artemis weighs his options, thinks briefly about what Julius Root would be like as a poltergeist, and nods, 'Yes, I do. But I will not accept them forever, so I suggest you choose wisely.'


	9. Chapter 9

Angst ahead! Plus, let me just say that the first half of this guy steals shamelessly from Keats' _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_ and _Lines_ because I may have just downloaded his entire works off of google and now that's all I read. Also, in the next chapters the game is: what random Greek god does Mulch represent for absolutely no good reason?

* * *

Chapter Nine: Dies Irae

Past:

Artemis sits at his computer, chin in hand, one long finger keeping time to Mozart's Requiem, K. 626, playing at full volume in his head. He wonders if he has over-estimated his opponents. He doubts it. This isn't, after all, a very subtle plan. Sighing, he switches to the Prelude of Bach's cello suite, some easy listening while he scrolls through his notes again.

There are so many things he could do with this project. So many things he is not doing. Some nights he lays awake thinking about what would happen if he left all the probes intact and sold his little super-machine to the highest bidder. Images of carnage spew across the dark canopy above his bed: starved lips gaping in the gloam, death-pale bodies small as children strewn across a cold hillside. There is madness here, outside of the circle of her arms, and it has made him cruel.

His reflection is just visible over the tiny font on his screen. He looks like Hell. His face is haggard, though still the utterly smooth white of bone. Except for his cheeks, where two splotches of red burn, visible even in this poor mirror. He sleeps poorly these days, waking long before the sun, feverish and panting. His skin is moist, and his hair sticks to his cheeks in strips like prison bars.

Those few hours before dawn are always the worst, when he is utterly alone, a pale ghost loitering in the dark. The house feels cold and desolate, though he is buried deep under eiderdowns and his family sleeps down the hall. But she is his fever-dream, and even as he lies awake she haunts him with her wild eyes, until the sun comes up and burns her from the backs of his eyelids.

He doesn't always dream about her. Truthfully, the dreams are sporadic, sometimes disappearing for nearly a year at a time. But the fear of them, of having her near when she is so far away, has seen him lay awake for entire nights, unable to close his eyes until he feels the sun fumbling at the windowpanes.

He never sleeps when with other women. The idea of anyone sharing, even unwittingly, her presence is impossible for him. Half of his lovers write off his self-inflicted insomnia as the eccentricity of a prodigy, only to be expected. The other half wants to talk about it. They want to _know, _they want to help, to fix him. He doesn't usually ask those ones back.

In the dreams she speaks to him in Gnommish, only he can ever quite understand what she is saying. She takes him by the hand and leads him into some lonely grot, and feeds him flowers and wild honey and he kisses her wild eyes shut and watches her smile curve around words that seem to be 'I love you', but he is never sure. It's with her fingers in his hair and his mouth on her skin that he wakes up, alone and shivering in his four poster bed. And it's then, with the memory of her still lingering, that he truly hates her, because he knows he will always love her.

He dreamed of her last night, and that is why he now sits in front of his computer, wanting so badly to take apart the Persephone and solder back the delicate wires that will expose them to the world. After all, he built this project with the intention of attracting the faery council's attention, it may as well be the threat they will think it is. He has had this thought many times before but has never actually gone ahead with it. Nearly has, yes. It's always close. But under his hate and his bitterness and his broken heart, the fact remains that he loves her, and can still remember the searing feel of his guilt when he lied to her. And that would be a drop in the bucket compared to the betrayal of her entire people. Even she, with her seemingly infinite forgiveness, wouldn't love him after that. If she ever loved him at all.

The council will send her to reason with him no matter what when this project is put on the market, because they won't know the difference. No need to make something so dangerous for no reason. It's like building a bomb and saying, well, I wasn't actually going to _use _it. A criminal he may be, but not a hypocrite. The point is to see her, and that is it.

Helpless and furious and furious because he's helpless, he switches off the monitor and goes to the window. Leaning his forehead against the cool glass he looks out over north pond, truthfully a small lake, with the sedge all winter-withered and black under the failing stars. Closing his eyes, he begs for the sun to rise and take the taste of her out of his mouth.

He stands there until, faintly through the double-paned glass, he can hear a bird begin to sing.

* * *

Present:

'Diggums 'n Day PI service, how can I help you, amigo?'

Artemis can hear the sound of some vegetable or other coming to a loud and most likely messy end on the other end of the line. 'Hello, Mulch,' he says.

'Well, well, _well, _if it isn't Master Mudboy. Sorry, Mud_man_ these days, so I understand.'

Artemis can almost hear the leer in Mulch's voice. 'Who told you?'

'Let's put it this way, I got it from a source most people think is, ha, past his expiry date,' Mulch crunches with particular gusto.

'He makes a habit of these apparitions, does he?'

'Got one too, did you? I think he just gets a bit bored. After all, there can't be many criminals of my cunning floating around over there with him. But what can I do ya for, Arty? I take it this isn't a social call. Our little leading lady seems to be the only one who gets _those_.'

Artemis counts to ten. Mulch is a friend. Be nice. Well, at least try. 'Would you _like_ me to pay you a social call too, Mr. Diggums? I'm afraid I only have time for a quick one.

Mulch guffaws and in the background Artemis can hear Doodah shout, 'Watch it with the ABC grapes, would you? D'arvitting whacko!'

'Ah, kid, I've missed you. But, what do you need? Name it and it's yours. Well, within reason.'

'And for the appropriate amount of gold.'

'Artemis, I'm hurt. Would I do that to you? Though, if you have anything on you, I'm a bit skint right now.'

Artemis laughs. 'Not on me, no, but help me with this and I'll have something for you.'

'That's my boy, knew you wouldn't let down old Mulch. Now, to business! What's the prize?'

'A sheep.'

'...come again?' the sound of grapes falling from an open mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: title goes to John Donne, my love. And this chapter houses still more hating on Artemis Sr., though I know it's not his fault Colfer uses him as his soap box it rubs me the wrong way none the less. Of all the characters to use.

Also, I think the second Angeline part gets a bit wordy and the ending is a bit trite, but I couldn't make it all lie smooth so we're just going to have to roll with it. Haha, and watch me in my epic quest to use as many canon characters as possible in this story.

* * *

Chapter Ten: Endure not yet A breach but an expansion

Past:

Angeline comes upon her son in the hallway outside his bedroom. He is leaning one of the leaded windows, palms and forehead pressed to the frosted glass. The full moon gives his pale face an eerie, underwater glow, against the background of an endless blue night. She has seen him do this before, countless times, and has had enough of slipping past like nothing is wrong.

'What are you looking at?' she comes to stand beside him.

If she startled him, he gives no sign of it. 'Nothing I care to see,' he replies.

She speaks softly, like a child coaxing a bird into their hand, 'Should I have asked what are you looking _for_?'

He nods, forehead clearing a shiny circle on the misted glass. 'Yes. However, the response would have been just as unsatisfying. It isn't there.'

'It?'

'She.'

'Ah.'

'But she doesn't like the cold,' he reasons, mostly to himself. 'And a full moon isn't a guarantee, after all.'

'How long have you been waiting?'

He looks at her, an unconscious suspicion narrowing his eyes at her inferred doubt. 'Three years,' he replies slowly.

She nods, licking he lips contemplatively, 'Don't you think, maybe-'

'That's not that long for them,' he interrupts, defensive.

She sees in his face the same wild longing that had looked back at her from her mirror every morning, all those years ago. And she knows just how easy it is to slip from there to somewhere much worse. Is it a family curse, she wonders, to wait for our lovers until we are mad with want? Until our endless daydreams of their skin on ours send us screaming into insanity?

'I didn't realise you cared for her quite so much,' she whispers.

'Neither did I.' His smile is bitter.

* * *

Present:

'Alright,' Mulch uses a stripped grape stem as a pointer, tapping the blueprint before him, 'so, this sheep thingummy has its own room you say?'

'Yes, in the far wing, just there. The room also has its own guard, which is where you come into play,' Artemis steeples his fingers, relaxing into his chair. They are in his study at Fowl Manor and it's incredible how much more in control being home makes him feel. 'Luckily, his post is outside the door.'

'So what? A simple tunnel my way up, grab it, tunnel back out?' Mulch knocks superstitiously on the wooden table.

'Precisely. Butler and I will visit the museum earlier in the day, to attach optic twists. When you near the floor, we will begin feeding the cameras a loop. I suggest you go in somewhere on the adjoining botanical gardens, the surrounding neighbourhood being nearly all concrete. Here is a copy of the guard shifts for you.'

Mulch pops another grape into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, 'Are there any sensors? Scales, etc, etc?'

'No, this is a pseudo-Celtic sheep, not a Fabergé egg.' Artemis reaches into a bag at the foot of his chair, 'Nonetheless, an associate of Butler's made this up for us, it is done to the measurements presented in the original study notes,' he passes Mulch a golden sheep.

'Not solid obviously,' Mulch holds the sheep close to his nose, letting his hair roam over it, '24C leaf, but bronze underneath?'

Artemis nods, 'The weight and detailing are identical to the original, so it will keep everyone happy for the time being.'

Mulch raises an eyebrow, 'And just how did you get your hands on the original field notes?'

Butler sighs, 'Trust me, dwarf, you don't want to know.'

And when Butler says things like that, you take his word for it.

* * *

The Fowls, shadowed by as many Butlers, make their way through the Ulster Museum, a gawking, loud, and apparently nearly average family unit. Only they recognise the oddity of themselves in such a situation.

Angeline is watching her eldest son. She doesn't know where he disappeared to last week. She has seen so little of him in the last few years, however, that that doesn't seem strange. But it does seem sad.

He is as tall as she is now, and slender like his father. Truthfully, Angeline has always wished a little more of her had made it into his features. Though, recovering from her illness, it had been comforting to know her husband wasn't truly lost, but always there, looking out from her son's serious blue eyes. Back when he still had both his eyes. She wonders what her son's other eye is seeing right now.

Feeling her scrutiny running along his jacket collar, Artemis slows, falling into step with his mother.

'It was lovely of you to suggest this outing, Arty. I feel as though we haven't spent time all together in years.'

'Quite!' Artemis Senior has overheard and stops to comment. 'Honestly son, you're nearly a stranger these days. Come home and eat with the family for once. And when are you going to introduce us to those girls you keep bringing in at ungodly hours? Don't you think we want to know them? Though there're so many, I don't know how we'll remember them all.'

'Sorry,' replies Artemis mildly.

Angeline bites her lip, recognising the injustice here. And, unlike her husband, she recognises who her son is searching for in 'those girls'. She loops an arm through one of her son's and drags her feet, letting the others get ahead of them. 'I didn't mean to accuse you Arty... Goodness knows we haven't been the most attentive of parents. I haven't any right to demand your attention, however, I am you mother, so I will anyway,' she gives him a cheeky half-smile, before frowning. 'I miss you Artemis. And I'm worried; it isn't healthy to cling to ghosts. I should know. Let her go, she's an impossibility. Come back to us who are here and who love you and who won't leave you. Please.'

Artemis laughs humourlessly. 'I'm afraid, Mother, that that is the one thing which I will not do for you.'

She frowns, running her teeth along her lower lip, worrying it.

Seeing her fret, he leans over and kisses her forehead affectionately, 'Don't worry, things are changing. After all, I am my father's son, nothing is impossible for us. And she will always come back to me, though she goes away.'

He hadn't said it spitefully, truthfully, he hadn't even thought of it like that, but Angeline looks away, her own guilt giving sting to his words.

'Could you never be satisfied without her?'

'Never.'

She tries again, 'What about Minerva? She's a lovely girl. Oh Artemis, I just don't want you to be hurt more than you have been.'

'Minerva is lovely, but not to me.' He thinks back to her night as Eve, in white gauze and a fading morning glory, so sterile, nearly bloodless. He wonders how Adam could have ever given Lilith up for something like that. Hadn't he realised her passion was worth his pain? Or had he recognised himself as her inferior and been such a coward that instead of bettering himself, he left her for someone easier to please? Well, Artemis is not Adam, gone soft foraging in some garden paradise. What he needs he is willing to hunt for. He may come to her broken, but he will come to her nonetheless. And in coming to her, take her for his own. 'Everyone must be hurt at some point, Mother,' he continues at length. 'At least this time I am choosing my particular pain, and know it is only means to an end.'

Angeline sighs, watching Myles lecture Beckett about the museum's latest addition while Beckett eyes the golden sheep, unimpressed. She wonders if it is horrible of her to be glad that it was that Artemis who had been dealt the losing hand in childhood and not the twins. It's not that she loves them better, only that she believes his childhood would have broken them. She hopes it hasn't broken him.

'You know that I love you, don't you, my darling? And I will accept whatever you choose to do, if you think it's right. Just please, no more of those girls. That's not right. They are not her.'

'No, no more of those girls,' he agrees, 'I promise.'

She leans her head against his, 'I hope you find her, though I don't know how you'll make it work. But she did you good.'

'She made me good.'

'Like I did your father,' Angeline chuckles.

'Like father, like son,' he replies.

'What are you two lollygagging about back there for?' calls Artemis Senior, right on cue. 'Come along, the boys and I are going in hunt of lollies!'

'Perhaps not quite the same,' muses Angeline. 'Somehow, I can't imagine you ever saying 'lollygag'. Likewise 'lollies'. Or even 'lollipop' to be quite honest. '

'Well, actually...' says Artemis, watching Butler surreptitiously attach an optic twist to the far security camera.


	11. Chapter 11

I love Butler. That's really all there is to say. Except, sadly, no Of Weeping, there just didn't end up being very much water!

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Iphigeneia On The Rocks

Artemis and Butler wait for Mulch just outside the fence, their rental car parked in the shadows. Following Mulch via iris cam feed and headphones, they watch him breach the museum floor, using a clever piece of dwarfish technology to pop up the floor tiles from underneath. They watch as he swaps the sheep and returns to the ground.

'Now, let's just hope the thought of your 'bucket of gold' keeps him from running away with it,' Butler mutters.

Artemis shrugs, 'Where would he go if he ran with it? Clearly stolen goods, both above and below ground.'

'Like that's ever stopped anyone from investing before.'

'Very true. However, he'd still have me coming after him.'

Butler nods to the truth of that. He licks his lips, working up the courage to ask, 'Do you love her, Artemis?'

'What does it look like to you?' Artemis fiddles with the equipment, not meeting Butler's eye.

'It looks to me like you do, and always have. It also looks to me like this could also be some elaborate scheme to yank the Council's chain. Or maybe a bit of both.'

Artemis nods, 'Well, you'll just have to wait and see then, won't you?'

'For us, ten years is a very long time to love someone in absentia,' Butler comments, seemingly non sequitarily.

'Indeed,' Artemis continues to avoid his eyes, 'a little pathetic one could say.'

'Oh, I don't know,' muses Butler, peering through the windshield with night vision goggles to give Artemis a break, 'seems to me that it's actually quite sweet. Noble, even. What strikes me as pathetic is if someone were to string along countless vertically challenged redheads and then create a super computer that could bring on World War III because simply phoning their hypothetical lover would be too terrifying.'

'Yes, well, I suppose some people simply aren't quite as brave as you are, Butler,' Artemis replies testily.

'Indubitably. But what I was getting at is that, were someone to string along these hypothetical redheads, it would be a pretty good indicator that they were still in love with the original model, as it were. And from that, it could be inferred that the reason certain people are sitting in a rental car at an ungodly hours is because someone still loves a woman who has, and continues to, risk everything for him. And if, hypothetically speaking of course, that were the case, I'd just like to point out that I'm very happy to be here, despite the fact that my legs are absolutely killing me.' Butler strokes his clean-shaven chin, 'Of course, I could be wrong. It has happened before.'

Silence. Artemis swallows, speaking softly, the hidden note in his voice not victorious but pleading, 'I told you it was safe, letting her come to me. I told you I knew her.'

Butler nods, 'Yes, and you were right. But I've since learnt from my mistakes. I am an old man now, after all, and that is all old men are good for it seems.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' says Artemis.

Butler puts away the goggles. 'At least,' he continues quietly, 'this way now I know someone will be around to look after you when I am gone.'

'_Don't_,' says Artemis. Butler reaches out and smoothes down his charge's hair, something he hasn't done since before Artemis learned to walk.

'Don't worry,' says Butler, settling back into the passenger seat, 'I'm not going anywhere until I get to play the jolly uncle, or something.'

'Well, you'll be waiting around goodness knows how long then, Juliet doesn't seem to be inclined towards the, ah, male option, when it comes to relationships.'

'I meant yours.'

'Oh.' Artemis blinks, then gives a delicate sort of snort, 'For Heaven's sake, I'm stealing a sheep, not proposing.'

Butler gives him a look that speaks volumes on the direct line one can draw between stolen sheep and parenthood.

'Besides which, you haven't the faintest idea how to be jolly,' Artemis sniffs.

Butler smiles out the window.

Mulch is as good as his word, or at least faithful to Artemis' promised gold. A few minutes later, a squat, dark figure comes sliding through the wrought iron fence, scuttling towards the car.

'Ta da!' Mulch hops into the back seat, brushing off the ivy that had wound itself into his hair. 'Who's a clever dwarf or what! And can we eat now? Frond, I am star-_ving_.'

'Stop the presses,' mutters Artemis, continuing in a louder tone, 'Let's see it then, Mulch.'

The dwarf passes forward a bundle, '100% faery gold, dwarfish workmanship too, if I'm not very much mistaken. Worth quite a pretty penny.'

'And quite a long stint in jail,' returns Artemis, inspecting the sheep.

'You always were such a cynical boy.'

* * *

'We have one last request,' the Councilmen smirk just a little.

Artemis' jaw tightens involuntarily, 'Really?'

'Yes, and then you will have your security and she her amnesty.'

'And what would this last request be?'

'The Persephone Project. We want it. The notes, everything, all the knowledge you stole from us.'

'The Persephone isn't only faery technology, it is at least half my own creation. I have absolutely no intention of handing over my notes to you.' Expected though it was, he has no intention of simply complying with their request.

'Well then, I'm afraid our deal has come to an end, Master Fowl. I suppose, however, there is some consolation in the fact that Captain Short can at least live with you in her exile. Though, you humans have such terribly _brief _lives. I wonder who will take her in when you are dead?'

'Or, you can keep your end of the bargain, and perhaps I won't release the Persephone Project for sale quite so soon. I was considering patenting it for hobby purposes only, but maybe now I'll call several of the interested military parties. Do you think that is good idea, councillor? After all, just think of the money they would be willing to offer.' Artemis is furious, though no one but Butler can tell.

'She would die with the rest of her people, were they to discover us!'

'Oh, now you are her people, once again. How interesting,' Artemis bares his incisors while somehow still managing to be icily sophisticated. 'But, as I'm sure you know, we humans are so terribly fickle. And it's come to my attention that perhaps she simply isn't worth all this hassle. I always was such a cold, cruel child.'

'You're a monster!'

'Says Agamemnon to Artemis,' he laughs. 'How wonderfully ironic. You sacrificed her, not me. I am simply accepting the tribute.'

The councillor opens his mouth to respond but Trouble's voice breaks in as he edges his way to the foreground. 'Give me a few minutes to talk to him,' Trouble motions off screen towards, presumably, the exit, 'he'll see reason. Just a few minutes, alright?'

The councillors disappear, muttering, and Artemis can hear a door shutting in the background.

Trouble runs a hand through his crew-cut. 'Fowl, you can't be serious. And just when you seemed like the good guy for once. Please, I know there's no love lost between you and the rest of us, but for her sake. And even Foaly's and that dwarf's, whatever his name is. Give it up. Or at least, give up the parts that are ours. Fudge it a little, they'll never know. Just make it safe for us.'

'Some stories tell it that the Goddess Artemis rescued Iphigeneia just before her sacrifice, replacing her with a goat,' Artemis replies cryptically.

'What?'

'It's always been safe,' Artemis sighs, giving up his allegory. 'I made it with faery technology and it's decidedly more advanced than anything that has come before, including the C Cube, but the whole point of it was to antagonise the council into sending Holly to me. I simply misjudged their... exuberance. But, after all, tempting though it was, exposing your People to mine would hardly have furthered my suit with Holly.'

Trouble's jaw drops, 'You mean –this whole time- just for her?'

Artemis shrugs, faintly miffed. 'Any cretin can scheme his way into gold. I have yet to meet anyone else who can scheme his way into Captain Short's good graces.'

'Right,' Trouble snorts, 'her good graces. Uh huh. But, why didn't you _say_ something?'

Another shrugs, ' I have my vanity, just as they do. Besides which, I would like to point out, they didn't actually ask before sending someone to kill me. And, lately, I've been thinking it might be good idea to have some sort of leverage.'

'_Frond_!' Trouble laughs incredulously. 'Well then, just give them the stupid thing with your bits taken out and fake some notes and next year release it under a different name. By then they'll know better.' Still laughing, 'Wait though... does this mean you actually _are_ a good person?'

'Don't get carried away,' Artemis replies peevishly, pursing his lips, 'and it's not that simple a process.'

'You sound like Foaly. But seriously Fowl, you knew from the start this was coming. You knew your threat was an empty one.

I'm not really sure who's the winner here,' continues Trouble, 'you, or them. Frond, if they knew they risked murder for nothing. D'arvit would they be furious. The only real loser is Holly, but not even because she's got you back.' Trouble pauses, 'Is that why you went about it like this? So that she would take you seriously? Because it worked.' Trouble watches Artemis' face, the relief that flickered along tensed muscles of his jaw, the faintest tremble of his lower lip.

Butler lays his hand on Artemis' shoulder, but when he looks up at his bodyguard, the man is staring absently out the window. Artemis sighs. Butler thinks he's so subtle sometimes.

'Tell them to send a shuttle round in three hours, to the North end, mind, I'll have everything ready by then. And if they do not keep to their end I actually will create something dangerous,' Artemis rises from his chair, briskly rearranging his suit jacket.

Trouble nods, 'I don't doubt it. But don't worry, they will; Foaly's been secretly taping these conversations. He says it's for a wedding present, but that's pretty much the same thing as blackmail in my book.'

'_Wedding present?_' echoes Artemis incredulously, but the screen is already blank.

Butler lets out a snort that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. When Artemis turns one cold, arched eyebrow on him, he covers it quickly with, 'Let's go down and see how Mulch is doing. Before there's nothing left of the kitchen,' as he moves out the door.

Artemis gives an exasperated huff, speaking to an empty room, 'Could someone explain to me, please, this preoccupation with matrimony by which the _entire world_ appears to be consumed? For pity's sake, can none of you see the expression on her face at the suggestion of a wedding, never mind offspring? I can, and it is not one of joy and rapture.'

Having finished his soliloquy, Artemis too goes down to the kitchen.


	12. Chapter 12

Borrowing, as always, from Keats: _Lamia_ definitely, _Ode to Psyche_ probably. Also, once more, Donne, _A Valediction Forbidden Mourning._ Truth be told, I wanted to mix in a bit of that poem again, reread it, found the line about 'tell the laity', realised the irony of this and thought it was too good to pass up. Apologies for being such a dork:) There are others, but I've forgotten and it's more fun that way.

Last but not least, this chapter is dedicated to the wonderful (and sometimes infuriating) Eoin Colfer, for, besides the obvious, one of my favourite parts of the series: the split narrative during Butler's troll fiasco in book one, where Foaly and Root being smart alecs on the side. So, it's homage time! Hurrah!

* * *

Chapter Twelve: To tell the laity of our love

The kitchen is duly rescued from Mulch's ravenous mouth. Various guns, bombs, and other accoutrements, are hidden under clothing. The Persephone Project, a compact half globe that would rest easily in a child's hand, is disassembled, pieces are removed, and it is reassembled and packed away. Notes are hastily edited and saved to disk (mostly to see Foaly's horrified expression). Clothes are changed, ties straightened, hair obsessively combed, and cuffs shot. One final, covert rummage is executed and a packet of figs is duly pocketed for later.

Butler, Artemis and Mulch get into the Bentley and drive into the north end of the Manor grounds, where a faery shuttle can land and not attract any unwanted attention from the house.

When they arrive, the shuttle is already there. Parked only a few feet from the road in a copse of trees, its door is open so its interior light draws a path from the car to its steps. Along the road runs a delicate country fence, installed by Artemis' great-grandfather who had had a rather pastoral sense of the aesthetic. A slight, dark figure is sitting on the fence, waiting for them in the dark by the gate. One leg crossed over the other it inspects its nails, the image of complete nonchalance. Its face is in shadow, its body a silhouette beside the glow of the shuttle light.

As the three exit the car, the figure looks up and white teeth flash in the dark.

'Why, good evening, gentlemen,' Holly rises fluid from her seat to stand on the fence post, hand on hip and eyebrow raised. Helen on the ramparts, surveying all that had been done in her name. A thousand ships and then some, thinks Artemis as his steps falter and stop.

Butler and Mulch converge on her with unnecessary enthusiasm to hide the sudden lack of Artemis. Obligingly, she hugs them and kisses them and oohs appreciatively over the golden sheep. It isn't until halfway through Mulch's vivid, and somewhat fantastical, retelling of his robbery that Artemis manages to get his limbs back in working order. Still hesitant, he approaches.

Butler notices him standing just outside the light and clears his throat, interrupting Mulch. 'Say, Holly, this bird hasn't got a kitchen has it? Mulch is starved, surprise, surprise,' he queries, as innocently as he can, which isn't very.

'Er, ye-ah,' Holly replies, suspicious at the sudden subject change, 'well, there's food at least. Go on in, the cabinet's on your left.'

'Fantastic. How about it, Mulch?'

But Mulch has also noticed the lurker and knows some kind of drama is imminent. _Are you crazy?!_ He mouths at Butler.

The manservant levels a stare at the dwarf that has downed many a doughtier opponent. Mulch swallows. 'Er, well, you know old Mulch: never says no to a free meal! Lead the way big man.'

They disappear into the shuttle.

'Subtle,' comments Artemis.

'What?' Holly frowns, then realises the situation, 'Oh.'

'Holly-' begins Artemis.

'You seem to say my name an awful lot these days,' Holly interrupts, trying to get over her sudden case of nerves.

'Making up for lost time,' shoots back Artemis, equally uncomfortable.

* * *

'Frond, don't start with that dorky pubescent crap again,' Mulch whispers to Butler, as they hide just inside the shuttle, 'Come _on_.'

'Give them a minute to get going.'

'I've given them over a decade to get going. Heck, depending on how you look at it, I've been waiting for this moment since he was _ten,_' Mulch opens the bag of figs, wincing at the ripping sound it makes.

Butler glares unsympathetically and makes shushing gestures with his hands.

* * *

'Vinyáya told me...' Holly swallows, trying to regain her earlier composure, '...about what you did. For, uh, for -' but she doesn't want to say 'me' out loud, in case it was all just a misunderstanding, in case it wasn't true, in case he didn't really...

'For you?'

'Yes,' the word comes out a whisper.

'That was kind of her, I didn't think she would,' Artemis drops the cuff link he has been unconsciously fiddling with.

'So... so, it's true, then?'

'Yes. Hope you don't mind,' he gives her a wry smirk, wondering if he should tell just everything he's done for her in this instance. He decides against it, fearing violence to his person.

* * *

'Here it comes,' whispers Mulch, 'the 'Oh Artemis!' and she'll throw herself at him and –'

'And if you keep talking we'll miss it!' returns Butler.

* * *

'Oh, Artemis,' Holly sighs.

* * *

'And now...' Mulch raises his fingers like a conductor at the final crescendo.

* * *

She slaps him. 'You _idiot._ All this trouble when you could've just left the curtains shut. _Frond_, Artemis, sometimes I just want to... to...' she clenches her fists in frustration.

Artemis cradles his cheek, 'To _apologise_ maybe? How long would you have gone on sneaking around like that, if I hadn't? I just rescued both of us from death and destruction and you _slap_ me? Next time, remind me not to bother!' Apparently, violence to his person is inevitable.

Butler raises an eloquent eyebrow. 'Huston, I think we may have lost that lovin' feeling. As it were.'

Mulch, fuming, doesn't hear him. 'D'arvit Holly, are you a complete idiot?! Take it back! Kiss him! For Frond's sake _kiss him_!'

Unaware of her cheerleader, Holly drags her fingers down her cheeks, 'Artemis, I'm not saying I'm not thankful –'

'Really? How odd. Because I certainly haven't heard anything remotely resembling an expression of gratitude since this conversation began.'

'Alright. Fine. You want gratitude? You got it.' Yanking him forward by his impeccably starched collar, she kisses him.

'Yes!' Mulch pumps the air with his fist, 'Atta girl.'

Gently, Butler takes the dwarf by the shoulder and leads him away.

'Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,' she punctuates each one with a kiss to his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead. 'And if you _ever_ make me worry like that again, I really will kill you.'

'Alright,' murmurs Artemis, holding her close and not really paying attention.

'And don't think I can't tell when you're not actually listening to me, because I can,' she punches him lightly on the shoulder.

'Mm,' he replies vaguely, but smiling. His fingers write Gommish along her back in spirals like spinning compass needles, like his perpetual dizzying hunt for her. But she's made all his circles just, bringing him home to her at last, to end where he had begun.

She pulls him even closer, no longer afraid, no longer unclean and criminal and creeping. For herself, she is loved and, finally, redeemed.


	13. Chapter 13

Well duckies, it's the end of a (rather short) era. I hope you've enjoyed yourselves. This last chapter is unabashedly happy, so not quite as pretty as it could be, but ah well. On a side note, interestingly enough, and completely by accident, this story is 13 chapters long. HMM. Ha, and as always, kudos to Keats. Last few lines being mostly his after all. (Hopefully everyone gets the Ambrosia thing. I wasn't all that clear).

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Because all good stories should end with feasting.

No1 is once again waiting for them in the shuttle port. He is grinning, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Foaly is beside him, antsy, clattering his hooves. Trouble is there too, and Vinyáya, and the Councilmen. He is pensive, she is trying not to laugh and they are frowning for all they're worth.

As they disembark Foaly grabs Holly and Artemis, heedless of who is watching. With them clutched in his arms, he staggers in awkward circles, yahooing and warbling like a yodeller on acid.

'Foaly. _Foaly_-' Holly struggles in vain. 'Would you get off? Foa-_ly._'

Artemis sighs resignedly at the damage done to his previously immaculate attire. Between Foaly and Holly this shirt was going to be more wrinkled than that sprite in Ho Chi Minh City. And he had dressed with such care too.

'Foaly, you are so em_bar_rassing...' at last, Holly manages to slip out from underneath one hairy arm. Her hair is sticking up every which way and she glares, trying to flatten it back down, only to be grabbed around the middle by an effusive No1. From a safe distance, Mulch giggles, licking the last of the figs from his fingers. Butler decides Artemis can deal with this one on his own. He's a big boy now.

'Ahem,' the councillors clear their throats as one, eyeing Holly as though she might spontaneously combust at any moment. She turns to them and smiles over No1's head. This, arguably, disgusts them even more than her original sin.

'Master Fowl, if you please,' they continue, desirous of beating a hasty retreat. Who wants to witness a celebration of such depravity!

'Of course,' Artemis straightens his clothes as best he can after Foaly's exuberance, 'take your Persephone then. Count yourselves lucky I won't need her back come springtime.'

They take their trophy and leave, unaware of Artemis smirking at their retreating forms. Apollonius pauses before Holly, a finger rising for one final reprimand, but Butler clears his throat and the Councilor moves on.

Foaly waggles his eyebrows at Artemis. 'Are you hungry? (No, don't answer that Mulch, I wasn't asking you) We've got quite the spread down in one of the conference rooms, thnks to Section 8. How about it?'

'It's nearly six in the morning,' comments Butler.

'Exactly,' replies No1, puzzled, 'dinnertime.'

Quietly, Vinyáya puts an arm around Holly, whose face is glowing.

Trouble comes towards them, face caught between smiling and frowning. 'Captain,' he begins, then corrects himself, 'Holly. Are you serious about,' he licks his lips, 'about Artemis?'

'What? Oh no, not all, I'll jump into bed with just about any old mudman,' she replies acerbically.

'Quit it, Holly. It's a big decision. There's no precedent, he's _human_ –'

'No, say what?'

'Have you really thought about this?' Trouble ignores her interruption.

'Yes, I have. And since the council - no, actually, d'arvit the council. I love him. I would love him no matter what they said.' She takes Trouble's face in her hands, 'Be happy for me Trubs. I know you think he's a bastard... and though that may be true,' she concedes after a second's consideration, 'nonetheless, he's the only person I know who would still come to save me even after I was dead. So don't worry so much, okay? After all, thousands of years' worth of prejudice,' she laughs, giving him a ruthful grin, 'can't be worse than the LEP locker rooms.'

Trouble sighs. She rolls her eyes.

'Trubs, I hid him when I should have killed him, loved him when I should have betrayed him. If I can begin a relationship during an assassination attempt, I don't see what would keep me from continuing it once we both got our freedom. I mean, _really_.'

'Yes, meeting someone over drinks is for lesser mortals, not the ground-breaking Captain Short,' Trouble smiles, though a little weakly. 'But I know, and I get it, and I _am _happy for you, I only... I want to be sure you're sure. Just because he raised merry hell to get you back, doesn't mean you have to go with him.'

Holly sighs, 'Maybe not. But honestly, you should probably be counting me lucky. I have this sinking feeling that I'd go with him even if he abandoned me in a gutter.'

Trouble glances over at Artemis, heatedly discussing the ant with Foaly and No1, and sighs again. 'So do I,' he replies gloomily. But he kisses her cheek like a gentleman and, with a smile to Vinyáya and a nod to others, exits stage left.

* * *

They are sitting around or, in the case of Holly and No1, on the table, happily gorging themselves, despite, in Butler's opinion, the odd hour.

'Artemis,' Foaly taps the man with a dolmades which Artemis is sure will leave a stain, 'explain to me why exactly you called it the 'Persephone Project'. Not quite following you on that one.'

Artemis shrugs, 'It's rather silly honestly. It was half faery technology, i.e. below ground, and half of my own devising, i.e. above ground, just as Persephone was half of each.'

'Gotcha,' Foaly pops the dolmades into his mouth.

'Okay, well, I don't. Who the d'arvit's Persephone?' butts in Mulch.

Artemis blinks, opens his mouth to explain, and then thinks better of it, 'Never mind.' He shakes his head and, turning back to Holly, frowns, 'I hope you don't intend to make a habit of sitting on tables.'

Unperturbed, Holly bites into a grape, 'Arty, I've been making a habit of sitting on tables for the past 100 years. You're just going to have to deal with it.'

'Alright,' he replies evenly, sitting down in a chair and taking her with him. He is not a publically affectionate person, but her comical 'Hurk!' as she chokes on her grape is worth the slight battering to his dignity. To say nothing of how this ability to hold her, and look at her, is still so new that reaching for her has nearly become a twitch.

Meanwhile, in his lap, having successfully swallowed her fruit, she smiles. He is safe and she is free and here there is no one to point their finger and denounce her.

No1 smiles, much like a child watching his parents make up after a fight. _Content,_ he thinks, _satisfied, safe._ Then he smirks. _Frond, where would these people be without me?_

Mulch guffaws loudly at the spectacle, his fingers stained with grape juice as he munches his favourite fruit. 'Whaddya say we ditch the Mudmen, bust out some wine, and _really_ party,' he calls, and is about to say more when he is drowned out by Butler's silent stare.

'After dessert, Mulch!' Vinyáya smiles. Then, laughing, 'Would this be wine of your own brewing?'

'Why? You gonna do me for it, copper?' he asks, a leer beginning on his ruddy face. Suddenly, he feels a cold hand pass through his shoulder. He doesn't need to turn around to know exactly who is breathing (well, metaphorically speaking) down his neck. He sighs, some people are just so _territorial_.

Meanwhile, Foaly's been busy, digging about in his bag. Finding what he wants, he straightens, waving a stoppered vial above his head. As everyone turns to watch, he empties the vial into a clean glass and, with a flourish, offers it to Artemis. 'I brought this especially for you. We found the basis for it in Opal's lab when we arrested her, but since then I've tinkered with the compounds and, I must admit, perfected it.'

'Yes, that must be very hard for you to admit,' pipes up Vinyáya.

'Really difficult,' agrees No1, 'challenging, character testing.'

Foaly purses his lips, 'Well, it certainly was hard to _make_. But fine, whatever, don't appreciate me.'

'What exactly is it?' Artemis takes the cup and eyes the liquid inside, a delicate pink, vaguely reminiscent of sparkling grapefruit juice.

'I call it Ambrosia,' Foaly smirks, 'with a sweet yet tangy taste, it sparkles on the palette.'

No1 nods in appreciation of his adjectives. Mulch rolls his eyes. Foaly ignores the latter, 'Go ahead Artemis, I think you'll like the side effects.'

'Ambrosia, you say?' Artemis looks at the glass once more. He looks up, at Butler, who nods, understanding, his smile only a little sad. He looks around the room at people who for the most part, surprisingly enough, actually care for him.

'Just drink it, mudbrat,' he hears in his ear.

He looks at Holly. She is watching him, face soft with delight. In the corners of her mouth there are the shadowy hints of a smile that waits, like a bright light in a casement open to the night, hopeful.

la fin


End file.
